Trouble in Trewith Green

This is the opening of the 5th Cleo Marjoribanks murder mystery. Not a good start to the day when a body is found outside her home....

As I pulled up in front of the elegant Georgian house I had to sigh. So beautiful. No, I'm not jealous

of friend's home. If I lived in one like this I'd have to quieten down and become more ladylike. My Edwardian mock-Tudor is better for a slightly overweight, red-headed Eastender driving a Land Rover around the New Forest.

'Come on through to the kitchen, Cleo,' Paula Linley invited me in.

Informal then, I mused as I followed her down the hall. Wonder what this urgent matter is all about? Hope it's nothing to do with Maggie. She's Paula's teenage daughter who hasn't, yet, discovered boys.

'Morning, Stella,' I greeted the young woman sitting at the table, a mug of coffee in front of her.

'Morning, Cleo. Thanks for coming over. I am afraid that it is my fault,' the clipped accent told me.

'Coffee?' Paula asked as I sat down.

'Please. Any gingerbread?'

'No, but I do have some bun loaf.'

'Great. And lashings of butter, please.'

Once we were settled I looked from one to the other of them. 'What's up?'

Paula waved a hand in Stella's direction. 'It's your story.'

The younger woman sighed. 'You know my Mother and Paula were at school together?' The milk chocolate brown eyes looked at me. I nodded.

'Well there was another lady who was at school with them. Caroline Warner.'

Paula took up the story. 'She married Jonathan and they have two daughters.'

Why the life story? 'And all this is interesting because.....?' I asked.

Stella ran a hand through her fluffy brown hair. Hey! She's got some highlights. Should have noticed that before. 'The thing is, Cleo, you will think I am making things up.'

'Such as an overactive imagination?'

'Maybe.'

'Spit it out.'

'What?'

I grinned. 'Sorry, one of my Gran's sayings.' I waved a hand at her. 'Go on.'

'Caroline died of cancer a couple of years ago.'

'And?' Unfortunately too many people still die of cancer.

'Her husband died a couple of weeks ago.'

Silence.

'What of?' I finally asked.

'Fell off a ladder.'

Yeah, that'll do it. 'I assume he was quite high up or something?'

Stella nodded. 'Cleaning the gutters.'

Another silence and Stella finished her coffee. Replacing the mug on the table she took a deep breath. 'The thing is, Cleo, I don't think that was an accident.'

'As in was he pushed?'


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'MURDER IN MITCHAM PARVA'

Here is the opening to the fourth Cleo Marjoribanks murder mystery.....

I don't believe it!  Only back from Spain for a few weeks and there's another body. No, I haven't found another one as I did when David and I were on holiday.  Apparently there's been a murder in another village in the Forest - that's the New Forest in Hampshire.

This morning before Mrs. Walsh - who 'does' for me - had unpacked her overall and put on the kettle (sorry - switched on the kettle) she was in full spate with the news.

'Had a terrible shock,' she told me in her New Forest burr. 'Linda's dead.'

'Who?'

'My friend, Linda'

'Sorry to hear that.  Was she ill?'

'No-o-o.  Murdered.'  She wrung her hands.  Yeah, honest she did.  She only needed a puzzled look from me to continue, 'Her husband found 'er in the garding this morning.  She went out to bingo in their church 'all last night and didn't come 'ome.'

'Wasn't he worried?'

She shook her head which is now a strange chocolate brown with blue tips and whispered. 'Separate bedrooms.'

'He wouldn't know she'd stopped out.'

'Right, but I don't know why 'e didn't notice at breakfast.'

'Letting her have a lie in?'

'Nah.  She works at Mitcham Manor.  Cleaning, like me, so she'd 'ave ter be up early.'

'You said she was murdered?' I reminded her.

'Head bashed in.'

Yup, that'd kill someone. 'Oh dear.  How did you find out?'

'One of their neighbours phoned ter tell me and ask if I've got 'n hour or two ter spare today if they need someone ter fill in at the Manor.'

Her phone played 'My Way' - she's a Frank Sinatra fan - and she rummaged in her bag for it. That's when I noticed that her nails match the blue in her hair.

When she'd finished the call and was jotting something in her Filofax I asked, 'Why do you still have a Filofax? You can put all that info onto the phone.'

'Don't know how to. This is a new one my 'usband give me.' She snorted. 'A phone's a phone. That's all I need. It's easier ter plan my weeks with the Filofax.'

Rather like me and my calendar. Incidentally, she's a bit older than me.  I think somewhere in her fifties and, so my friend Paula tells me, is always formal. Calls all her clients Mrs. or Miss - whatever. We've decided it must be a family trait as it seems all her family worked in service. You know, maids and things in the big houses.

Mug of tea and two biscuits later Mrs. Walsh finally got started on the work and I went to my office - or study or whatever you want to call it - and phoned Paula.



Sorry, but the cover seems to have gone AWOL!

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Lovely morning but....

Summer has arrived - hurray! And this morning my writer friend, Roberta Grieve, and I met for coffee. As we are both busy ladies with our writing we don't get together often enough so there is always lots to talk about.

Except.... this morning when we were sitting inside the cafe - with its doors open - and had difficulty hearing each other because of a very loud street singer (C&W) 'entertaining' shoppers. Bad enough having to put up with 'background music' inside shops without being force-fed it when trying to enjoy cup of coffee and chat. Time to find another coffee shop - away from the madding crowd!

Left me wondering how many customers, like us, the shops in London Road, Bognor Regis, lose due to the unwanted noise?

Wake up, Bognor, when people are shopping or wanting to chat they DON'T need intrusive noise. 

'A Favourite Aunt' by Christina.

This is the opening to my book 'A Favourite Aunt' based on events that happened to many women in the 1960s. This was before the Marital Laws changed in the early 1970s thus making it easier for women - they could get restraining orders on their abusive husbands! Prior to that they either 'put up' with the abuse or did what I did - left! Unfortunately the law was still on the side of the husbands. 

'I can't thank you enough for your help, Christina,' the distinguished white-haired gentleman sitting across from her raised his glass to the grey-eyed woman whose dark hair showed auburn lights.

The woman smiled fondly at him. 'No problem, Robert. With the support you and Mary

have given me over the years, it's the least I could do.'

'But your comments and corrections have made the book so much better.' Actor Robert Denby had now completed his autobiography to the publisher's satisfaction and had brought Christina to his favourite restaurant tucked away in the City of London. Away from autograph hunters. 'The time you spent on the manuscript must have cut into your work time.'

'Don't worry about it. It does me good to get away from my own writing. That is why I also write travel articles.'

'Ah yes. As when I take a break from Shakespeare and do something a little more lighthearted.'

They continued with their meal, then Robert, his brown eyes twinkling, surprised his companion. 'Christina, why don't you write your autobiography?'

'What?' She grinned, her eyes open wide in surprise. 'I'm not famous. No one would buy it, even if I managed to get it published.'

'Okay, so you're no Agatha Christie, but your travel books do sell well.'

'Not phenomenally. Why do you think I also went out to work until I almost reached retirement age? I needed a steady income to pay the bills.'

'Mmm. It's a pity you never bought your own place.'

'You know why I couldn't. I'm a woman. Back in the 1960s women couldn't get a mortgage.' She grinned ruefully, 'Not that that would have helped many of us. Our wages only just covered the rent on a bed-sit with hot and cold running water and a gas ring.'

'Which is why you should write your autobiography. To let people know how hard life was for single women of our generation and in your circumstances especially. I often wonder how many of you survived to make a success of your lives?'

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Rock'n'Roll Murders

Like nostalgia? This story goes back to the late 1950s - Elvis Presley was doing his national service! Long John Silver and the Pirates had a record climbing the charts and in the summer were doing a tour along south coast resorts. All going very well until someone killed the Assistant Stage Manager. Here is the opening:

Before he had even cut off the last note of the song the audience was cheering and clapping.  As he finished, bowed and waved, Harry Jones was awed by the adulation.  It was incredible that after all his years in the business it had taken this rock and roll invasion from America – and his new incarnation – to bring about such success.

He turned to his backing group, The Pirates (Sid and Johnny on guitars and Olly on drums) to thank them and invited the audience to applaud them.  If it wasn’t for them he wouldn’t be here now.  He was the new “teenage” sensation, Long John Silver, a glittering figure in silver trousers and blouson top.  With, of course, the regulation black hair cut in the style made popular by film stars such as Tony Curtis (and copied by Elvis Presley who, now doing his military service, sported a much shorter cut) – a quiff on top and the sides brushed back into the style called a DA (duck’s arse).

The Pirates?  They were dressed as pirates in black trousers, white frilly shirts, red bandanas and long black hair tied back at the nape.

“Oh!  Wow! You’re fantastic!” Harry told the audience.

“No, you are!”

“I love you, Long John!”

“You’re the best!”

These were just some of the replies from the teenagers in front of him.

Having entertained them with his new song, he broke into the one they had all been waiting for – his latest hit.

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War Records - Family info

My Dad was in the RAF during World War 2, but he rarely spoke about his experiences. I did learn from Mum that he was supposed to be trained as a pilot. As he didn't want to do that he overstayed a 24hr pass. Ended up in the camp 'prison' but didn't care. He was the only one there and was very happy to have his sketch pad and pencils with him. At night the two guards went off duty and left him with the keys - in case of an air raid. Very trusting.

His next non-experience was driving a lorry which he crashed. (He was a lousy driver!)

So, not knowing exactly what he did during the war I did some internet research. He was with 110 Repair and Salvage Unit. I do know he was stationed in a couple of places in the UK, one being Blackpool. Can't remember the other camp and, of course, there may have been some other(s). In 1945 he was in Italy, somewhere near Venice - have some of his watercolours to prove it! As well as snaps that he took en route from wherever they landed (from a ship) to Venice.

If you are looking for information about about anyone who served during the war the web site is:

www.forces-war-records.co.uk/namesearch

Back to writing - at last!

Having been ill most of this year I haven't been able to get into the writing mode but.... At last!

I had an idea based on World War II - which I lived through as a child. Started listing things that I remembered - went to several pages! Now I am trying to fill out each point so that I can see what I have that can be used but.... have not idea yet what genre it will be in. A case of watch this space.

In the meantime I have now put my books onto Kobo in addition to Amazon Kindle (where some are in paperback format).